Chapter 37

“What did you say, Second Lieutenant?”

“Here, slip this over your shoulders, Instructor,” Yi-tan urged, draping a blue official robe over Myeong-joo’s shoulders.

It was the groom’s ceremonial robe. Then, wrapping the bride’s ceremonial head-ribbon over his own broad shoulders, Yi-tan held a bridal coronet in his hands with a look of playful contemplation. Myeong-joo stared blankly at the brilliant gold leaf adorning the ribbon as Yi-tan turned to him with a grin.

“Should I wear it, or shouldn’t I?”

“Are you telling me you intend to wear the coronet right now?” Myeong-joo asked, dumbfounded.

Yi-tan chuckled and guided him into a chair. Feeling as though they were playing house, Myeong-joo found the situation absurdly comical. Yi-tan merely shrugged his massive shoulders as if to say, why ever not?

To welcome him as my bride… Myeong-joo had never imagined in all his living days that such a moment would come to pass. A lump of emotion rose in his throat. Watching that strikingly handsome man playfully drape the bridal ribbon over his shoulders and hold the coronet in his hands made Myeong-joo feel as though he were drifting through a bizarre, dizzying dream.

“Both of you are exceptionally handsome,” the photographer praised with a beaming smile.

Myeong-joo could not return the smile. A sudden surge of harmonization energy tightened his solar plexus, throwing his stomach into violent spasms. With each passing day, the attacks grew more frequent.

Even with harmonization, your illness may not be cured completely. The odds of survival will increase, but no one can guarantee whether Cha Myeong-joo will draw the lot of life or death.

The clinic doctor had warned that the symptoms would only turn more vicious. How did you bear such agony all on your own, Myeong-in, my dear sister?

Dark blue veins bulged along Myeong-joo’s temples. Far from smiling, maintaining a neutral expression was sheer torture; his face was draining of all color, turning deathly pale.

“Now, smile, both of you!” the photographer urged, grinning cheerfully, oblivious to Myeong-joo’s desperate endurance of agony.

Unaware that Yi-tan’s hand had come to rest companionably on his shoulder, Myeong-joo barely managed to look forward. It would be a miracle if his haggard, pain-stricken expression didn’t ruin the portrait.

With a loud shutter click, the photo was taken. Unsatisfied with a single shot, the photographer snapped several more in rapid succession before declaring cheerfully that they were finished.

Giving detailed instructions on when the commemorative portraits would be developed, the man bowed and took his leave. The violent churning in Myeong-joo’s stomach gradually subsided. Taking advantage of a moment when Yi-tan was turning away, Myeong-joo quickly spat the blood pooling in his mouth into a handkerchief, folded it several times, and shoved it deep into his pocket. Fortunately, Yi-tan seemed not to notice, turning to him with a smile.

“You must be famished,” Yi-tan said gently. “It would be best to have something to eat first.”

“The reception is already under way. Shouldn’t we greet the guests first…?” Myeong-joo hesitated.

“Everyone is likely already drunk,” Yi-tan countered. “Having a meal takes priority.”

Shrugging off the bridal head-ribbon and tossing it onto the table, Yi-tan took Myeong-joo by the wrist and led him away. Leaving the photo studio partitioned by a peony folding screen, Myeong-joo cast a backward glance. On the screen embroidered with multicolored blossoms, not a single butterfly or bee hovered over the plump petals. Peonies were scentless flowers; perhaps they suited this bizarre, hollow wedding of theirs all too well.

In any case, Myeong-joo longed to rinse the metallic taste of blood from his mouth, leaving him no choice but to follow closely behind. Walking at a steady, measured pace, Yi-tan led the way back toward the waiting room. Myeong-joo had assumed they would eat in the banquet hall, but evidently not. After asking a staff member stationed by the door to arrange a meal, Yi-tan looked back, gesturing for Myeong-joo to enter.

Myeong-joo followed him inside in a daze. After sitting in awkward silence for a moment, two attendants arrived carrying lacquer-tiered meal boxes. Lifting the lid revealed skewers of meat and vegetables, seasoned greens, and a neatly grilled small croaker. He had never received such an exquisite boxed meal in his life.

Yi-tan smiled faintly, gesturing toward the food. “Please eat.”

“…You should eat as well, Second Lieutenant.”

That was the extent of their conversation. Myeong-joo stole occasional glances at Yi-tan, whose chopsticks moved with refined grace, before feeling foolish and abandoning his furtive looks to focus on his food. The soup brought in a thermos was a clear fish broth featuring fresh flounder. The delicate, savory broth soothed his spasm-weary stomach so pleasantly that he found himself eating heartily before he knew it.

“It seems to suit your palate,” Yi-tan remarked.

“…It is passable.”

Yi-tan had apparently been watching him for some time, smiling with soft, affectionate eyes. The food was far better than Myeong-joo’s indifferent answer suggested; embarrassed, he cleared his throat and kept his gaze on his bowl.

“If you are finished, shall we stand?” Yi-tan asked, rising from his seat first.

Though leaving some food behind tugged at Myeong-joo’s conscience, he had no choice but to stand and follow.

***

Leaving the waiting room, they headed toward the reception hall located on the basement level. Not a single word passed between them during the elevator ride. While Myeong-joo remained silent to soothe his still-nauseous stomach, seeing Yi-tan equally taciturn left him feeling vaguely unsettled. He wanted to ask if Yi-tan was dissatisfied with the marriage now that the vows were spoken, but kept his peace.

The elevator seemed to sense the heavy mood, promptly opening its doors to let them out. Fortunately, the silence did not linger; as they walked down the corridor, the boisterous clamor spilling from the banquet hall grew steadily nearer.

“Tsk.”

Hearing a sharp click of the tongue, Myeong-joo turned in surprise to look at Yi-tan. But the expression on Yi-tan’s face was placid and serene; he must have imagined it.

“Shall we enter?” Yi-tan asked, grasping the brass door handle.

At Myeong-joo’s nod, the door swung open, and the muffled din came rushing over them in a wave.

“Oh-ho, you’ve arrived, my brother!”

Even before the doors parted fully, Myeong-joo recognized Lee Yi-ho’s voice. A faint crease appeared between Yi-tan’s brows. Offering no reply, Yi-tan smiled pleasantly at Myeong-joo and stepped inside first.

“I was just receiving congratulatory toasts from your platoon members,” Yi-ho announced, raising his champagne glass high with a genial, expansive smile, looking in high spirits. “Knowing that starting tonight you must share a bridal bed with a fellow wielding the exact same equipment, I truly agonized over whether it was right to accept congratulatory drinks on your behalf. Not that anything can be done now, of course…”

Lee Yi-ho cut a glance toward Myeong-joo, his lips curling upward as he brought the flute to his mouth.

What an ill-mannered cur. For a maidservant’s son to insolently chatter about what hung between a nobleman’s legs!

Perhaps instead of merely trading words, thrashing him properly to restore propriety would be better. Myeong-joo cared nothing for another person’s birth status under ordinary circumstances, yet toward Lee Yi-ho he found himself clinging to the abolished caste system, glaring at him with fierce defiance. Even if he couldn’t beat an Aberrant in a physical brawl, pulling out every hair on the man’s head felt like the only way to satisfy his fury.

“Goodness, Major. Have you indulged in too much wine?”

Yi-tan’s empathetic voice cut in. Looking at Lee Yi-ho with drooping eyelids, Yi-tan appeared genuinely concerned.

At the commotion, the Aberrants seated around the round tables draped in crisp white linen turned in unison toward them. A few were familiar faces—members of the platoon Yi-tan commanded, each an exceptional combatant. Among them was Ahn Hee-wan. Dressed in a sophisticated dark green cocktail dress, she looked up coldly at Lee Yi-ho; once he turned his back, she raised a slender index finger to her temple and twirled it in a circle. Watching her, the platoon members seated around the table silently snickered.

Taking on a deliberate, booming cadence as though reprimanding unruly children, Lee Yi-tan addressed them: “The major was recently cautioned by the Chief of Staff to practice self-restraint after drunkenly harassing a restaurant waitress. Which one of you disregarded the Chief of Staff’s directive and dared to fill the major’s glass?”

“Ah, our deepest apologies, Platoon Leader,” Hee-wan chimed in with exaggerated contrition, quick on the uptake. “We only meant to share a drink in honor of your joyous occasion. Lowly in rank as we are, we rarely have the opportunity to converse with such a distinguished figure as Major Lee. How could we have known that such an exalted gentleman would go around committing sexual harassment?”

She bowed her head in theatrical deference. Lee Yi-ho’s face flushed as hot as burning coals.

“You… you bastard…” Yi-ho hissed.

Ignoring the curse, Yi-tan turned immediately toward Myeong-joo with an easy smile. “The elders must be waiting. Shall we proceed, Instructor?”

“Let us do so.”

Myeong-joo cast a brief glance at Lee Yi-ho, meeting his eyes with an impassive countenance before turning away. Lee Yi-ho’s face deepened to an even darker shade of crimson, veins threading through the whites of his eyes in sheer fury.

“Insolent pup… Yes, let us see how long you last,” Yi-ho muttered under his breath, grinding his molars. A sneer twisted his lips, anger poorly suppressed clinging thickly to his face.

Staring at him in distaste, Myeong-joo felt a gentle tug on his sleeve and turned forward again. Leaning closer, Myeong-joo kept his voice strictly between the two of them. “Did you not provoke him a bit too much?”

“Provoke him?” Yi-tan countered with feigned innocence. “Surely a younger brother may advise his elder to drink in moderation.”

Yi-tan answered as though he truly had no idea what Myeong-joo meant. Myeong-joo kept his mouth shut, finally understanding why Lee Yi-ho would tuck his tail before Yi-tan one moment and snap at his heels the next. He had always thought Yi-tan upright and gentlemanly; now he saw the man possessed a distinctly mischievous, vindictive streak.

Exhaling a quiet sigh, Myeong-joo scanned the banquet hall. Aside from performing a ceremonial bow to Chief of Staff Lee Hui-eum seated in the family section during the program, he had not spoken a single word with the patriarch; he felt he ought to pay his formal respects.

While having the strict, intimidating in-law now become his father-in-law was daunting in its own right, failing to offer greetings to the man who hadn’t even attended the formal family meeting seemed unthinkable. As Myeong-joo searched the room, a faint warmth brushed against his ear. Startled, he whipped his head around, only to find Yi-tan peering down at him with an inquisitive look, having lowered his head to speak.

“Why are you so startled?” Yi-tan asked softly.

“No… ahem, it is nothing.” Fortunately, he managed to conceal his fluster quickly. Myeong-joo glanced around the hall. “I think we should pay our respects to the Chief of Staff.”

“Is that truly necessary? It seems rather pointless,” Yi-tan remarked blithely.

Surprised by the cavalier attitude, Myeong-joo chided him in the careful tone one might use to instruct an adolescent. “I am not suggesting we do this in hopes of becoming dear friends now that we are wed. It is a matter of basic propriety. You must accompany me, Second Lieutenant, especially since we skipped the pyebaek ceremony.”

Staring intently at Myeong-joo, Yi-tan suddenly bent down and whispered into his ear: “Perhaps this was what I missed most.”

Before Myeong-joo could ask what on earth he missed, the handsome officer beamed brightly and took him by the wrist. Rather than wrenching his arm free, Myeong-joo merely sighed and allowed himself to be led.

Words like missed were likely meant for that fool who had been his instructor before the reversal, not for the current Cha Myeong-joo; there was no reason to formulate an answer for words that were not directed at him.

Thinking in that light brought an odd sense of relief. This marriage held immense, life-altering weight only for Myeong-joo; to Yi-tan, standing at this altar was merely the fulfillment of necessity. Even if fond feelings existed, they were plainly the camaraderie and respect he bore toward a revered mentor; Myeong-joo saw no point in fretting over them alone.

The longing he had clung to even across the currents of time seemed to slowly slip through his fingers. It was a preposterous daydream, but even if feelings could be reciprocated now, he was a terminally ill man with no future. To indulge in romance would only become a burden in the end. A man on the verge of death had no right to utter an unwelcome confession just to unburden his own conscience. Letting it slip away was undoubtedly for the best.